


Beating In Time

by thepizzasitter



Category: Disney - Fandom, Disney Princesses, Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: F/M, Not a typical pairing, Pocahontas/Kocoum - Freeform, but one I enjoyed writing anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/pseuds/thepizzasitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her mother's necklace. Restored to her at long last. Now, it was given a new meaning, a hopeful and joyous one that she would proudly wear until the end of her days." Two years later, she is looking for him. She just doesn't know it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beating In Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic of mine, re-posted from FFNet.
> 
> I wanted to write a story that coincides with a different version of Pocahontas. Because she was part of the Algonquin tribes, Pocahontas was likely a Cheyenne native, regardless of what Disney has to say about anything. I wanted to incorporate the knowledge that Pocahontas was actually married to Kocoum long before she met John Smith, but still stay mostly in the Disney realm. In short, it is a Kocoum/Pocahontas story taking place two years after the events of the first movie. The second movie is disregarded. As it stands, John Smith and Pocahontas were very likely NOT lovers, but I decided that a mix of the real legend and the Disney could be fun. So I have added to the depth of various characters and taken out others. Sadly Meeko, Percy, and Flit will not be appearing, but Grandmother Willow is in here, because I felt she was too important a role to take out. And Kekata's name has been replaced with Tomocomo, because this was the name of Chief Powhaton's real-life shaman. I have also included more of the Native American culture by telling parts of some traditional stories and using bits of the language to make it slightly more realistic. Though Pocahontas (in real life) could speak some English, it should be assumed that everyone is speaking Tsėhesenėstsestotse (the native Cheyenne language) unless they are talking with a white person. I will post the meaning of the interspersed Cheyenne words at the end of each chapter.

"…and Malsum's spirit went underground and became a wicked wolf-spirit that still occasionally torments humans and animals, but fears the light of day, my little ones," spoke the crackling and soft voice of Tomocomo, the _shaman_ of the village. A sly smile came to his face and he leaned in conspiratorially to the young ones gathered around him. "And may you never be caught sneaking _roti_ from your mothers, or else Malsum will sneak into your home and snatch you away!"

The children gasped and squealed at the horrible thought of being spirited away by the wicked Malsum. Pocahontas looked on with a fond smile at the elder of the tribe and at his wily grin, she laughed and asked, "Ah, my dear _ma'háhkéso_ , using fear to instill morality into our children? Surely that cannot be considered ethical?"

The _shaman's_ face drew down into a mock scowl. "Of course! I seem to have failed with you, but hopefully I will not make the same mistake twice!" he retorted. She put on a wounded façade and he chuckled at her pout. "Oh, Little Wanton, stop looking at me like that. You know very well the high regard I have for you."

Pocahontas sniffed at the Wise One and quipped in a nonchalant manner, "Oh yes, I can see your regard clearly every time you belittle me in front of the children and give me menial chores when I should be given more meaningful tasks now that I am to be a Seer."

Though she had meant it as a joke, Tomocomo's smile faded, and he stood to shoo the little ones who were watching intently on their way. When they had scampered off, he turned to face his apprentice again.

"Pocahontas, you know why I give you the 'menial chores'. Your talents are extensive, but you must learn to keep them within your power before we can begin interpreting visions. You must gain steadiness."

The young woman simply smiled and put a hand on the elder's arm. "I know this, Tomocomo. I merely meant to joke with you. I know that I am not yet ready for visions. The spirits know what happened after my last one." At this, her eyes clouded with pain at her remembrance of the events two years before. Thoughts did not come in a crystal stream, but in a muddy whirl pool, trying to pull her under.

Dreams. Ships. White Men. War. Life as she knew it, ended.

She had fallen into a deep despair for several months after John Smith had been ripped from her by the morning tide and a boat with sails as white as clouds. She knew then that it would be unlikely that they would ever meet again. But, as was her nature, she had been able to heal eventually. The ache seemed duller with each passing day, and though she missed John greatly, she felt as though he were near when she visited the settlement of Jamestown. It was more frequent now that she went, what with winter's chill drawing in to nip at her toes and the settlement barely ready for the time of sleep.

The men and women of the town were friendly with her, though relations sometimes were still strained between the Indians and the white men. All of the people in Jamestown knew they could depend on beloved Pocahontas to keep them safe and fed, should the need arise.

The _shaman_ watched the display of emotions cavort across his charge's face, and said, "It heals each day, does it not? The pain recedes and the hope is allowed to regrow." She was brought back to the clearing by his words and nodded, feeling better for having let the memories loose, rather than try to keep them in a clay jar for another day.

"I feel that you will find a new path. A path that will bring your two families together," he said wisely, and Pocahontas stared as he moved slowly away. Her _two_ families? Never before had she heard the Wise One refer to the white men as any kind of family. A small smile crept onto her face as she considered that.

She walked through the clearing, waving to Nakoma as she passed. Nakoma quickly stood and ran over to her friend with a smile. "Pocahontas! How are you? I saw the _shaman_ walk away with a silly grin. Did you finally gain the upper hand on him with your wit?" she asked giggling.

"No, Nakoma. He has gotten the better of me once again," was Pocahontas's cryptic answer.

The usually stoic woman tugged on her arm. "Come, let us paddle out to the lake! It is nearly time for it to freeze, and it may be our last chance," the older girl pleaded. Nothing in nature pleased her more than the water.

Pocahontas shook her head with regret. "Actually, Nakoma, I need to be alone for a while. Tomocomo has given me some things to ponder, and I wish to seek solace in the trees."

Nakoma looked at her dearest friend for a long moment, then relented, understanding Pocahontas's need for solitude lately. A voice bade her return to the cabin, and her younger friend grinned and winked at her. A tall, pale, and redheaded figure emerged from one of the lodges, and called to Nakoma.

"Hoy, Naki! If you don't return, I'm afraid the kids will eat us out of house and home!" Thomas called playfully. Thomas had stayed behind in Jamestown, rather than return to England. Eventually, he had come to live as a part of the tribe when he and Nakoma became friends and—eventually—lovers. They had been blessed with three children: a girl and two boys. Over time, the man had become much more self-confident, and took a high standing in the tribe as a delegate between Jamestown and the tribe. A clatter could be heard within, and Thomas's eyes begged his wife to come quickly, before chaos broke out.

Laughing, Nakoma hugged Pocahontas and gracefully ran back to the house, where she kissed her husband and disappeared inside with him. Pocahontas watched them with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she felt overjoyed for her friend's obvious happiness. She could not imagine anyone better suited for the one who was like a sister to her.

But on the other hand, she felt deeply saddened. She had not moved on from John Smith, despite the many offers of marriage that had come her way. She didn't know if she ever would.

She strode from the clearing with purpose: to see Grandmother Willow. The ancient tree had always been a great help when her feelings became muddled. She stepped into a canoe and paddled towards the far shore, where the oldest of trees resided.

"My dear child, it has been too long. It gets terribly boring without you here," was Grandmother Willow's greeting. Her adopted 'grandchild' smiled and apologized for not coming more often, though both knew she came at least once a week.

"I have been having another strange dream, Grandmother. And I am afraid to even speak it. The last time I did, it came true, and my heart broke because of it," she trailed off into a whisper at the end.

"Child, perhaps the telling of this dream will lead to the path that will mend it," the tree spoke softly, not pressing her, simply offering counsel. Pocahontas stared at her hands for a while, before raising her head and looking into the hollow eyes of her Grandmother.

"I am standing in the woods, and I hold the spinning arrow. I now know that the arrow is a compass from the last dream. I look down, and there are boot prints, like the ones the white men wear, in the snow. As I follow them, something strange happens…"

"What happens, Child?"

"Well, the prints become different. They start out as boot prints, but for some reason they become bare feet tracks, and when I look up, the arrow points to a tall tree, where a proud eagle sits at the top, with its mate, their heads turned towards the sun," she explained to the patient willow. "It's as if…as if they are watching the sunrise of their future together. And I don't know how that could be a vision of anything in my future."

Grandmother Willow was silent for a long while. Then, she finally spoke with a barely suppressed smile in her voice.

"I think it has everything to do with your future path, and I think part of the answer is pacing outside the curtain of my branches."

**xXx**

The branches rustled with the wind, drawing them back slightly to reveal someone walking back and forth on the small island near the edge of the trees. Pocahontas peeked through the hanging curtain of leaves, her heart beating quickly. Grandmother had said part of her dream would be revealed with the one who was pacing.

A tall, dark figure strode with long steps across the edge of the water, his obsidian eyes on the ground below him, deep in thought. Pocahontas nearly laughed.

It was Kocoum.

She shook her head at her own foolishness, believing that somehow all her questions would be answered. But Kocoum was definitely not any kind of answer she could see. Though a very welcome sight.

She burst from the leaves, running towards him full tilt. He looked up a moment too late, before she tackled him to the forest floor. He could have withstood the 'attack' had he been paying attention, but he had not been prepared for an armful of Pocahontas.

Down they went until the wily woman sat on his hips with a playful smirk and said somberly, "You know, Kocoum, I think your warrior instincts have been failing you too often lately. That is the second time I have caught you unawares!"

Kocoum, who's mouth seemed to not want to cooperate, opened and closed several times like a fish, before the alarm in his eyes faded and mirth replaced it. "But this is only because you are a far superior warrior to me. You stalk like a _nanóse'hame_ , with no regard for the underbrush, for you barely tread on it," he replied teasingly. "How is that fair?"

Pocahontas smiled at her friend. She was so glad to call him that now.

_She walked towards the sick house, quickly leading the white healer—they called him a doctor—towards where Kocoum lay dying from Thomas's bullet wound. She found said man waiting outside, a fearful look in his eye and his cap in his hands. Pocahontas felt for him; she knew this was the first time he had nearly killed a man, and he had only been protecting John._

_They shared a hopeful look as they passed, before she went to Kocoum's side, pressing her cool hand against his burning forehead. Looking towards the doctor, she said, "We have no skill against your fire magic. He is fading every minute, and we are powerless to stop it. Can you heal him?"_

_The doctor came forward, but Kocoum opened his eyes blearily and tried to ward him off. "Keep…the white demon...away from me!" he tried to rally himself to fight, but Pocahontas pushed him back down when he gritted his teeth against the pain._

" _Kocoum, I promise it's okay. I will explain what has happened the last few days, and all will be clear. For now, this white man is here to help you. He knows what will cure your wound. Please, Kocoum, let him help," she soothed, but he would have none of it._

_She put her palms on both sides of his face and said softly, "For me, Kocoum? Will you let him through for my sake?"_

_After searching her eyes for a long moment, the warrior sighed and sank back onto the cot, closing his eyes again. "Very well," was all he said._

_Pocahontas was shooed from the sick house, but feeling as though she needed to be there. No sooner had she walked out, when a scream pierced the air, and she rushed back in. She found Kocoum breathing hard and struggling against the pain. Never had she heard the fierce man cry out in pain, regardless of his wounds. It frightened her deeply, and she rushed to his side, demanding answers._

" _I just took out the bullet. It is the piece of metal that caused the wound. The skin is infected, and it was trying to close around the bullet. I had to cut open the wound again, and now I must clean it so it will not stay infected," explained the doctor, who was tipping a drink into Kocoum's mouth._

" _Will it heal?" she asked desperately, kneeling by Kocoum again and wiping the sweat from his brow._

" _It should, if he is strong."_

_She looked at the dark man, and with something like affection in her voice, she replied, "There is none stronger."_

_It had been nearly a week until he was able to walk again, but the doctor had promised a full recovery, and it was true. Soon he was able to run and hunt again with no problems. Eventually, he had approached Pocahontas requesting information regarding the white healer, the war, and the newfound peace in the land._

_She had answered all his questions, and he had sat for a long time simply staring at the ground in silent contemplation. Finally he looked at her._

" _Thank you," he said quietly._

_She was startled. "For what?" she asked curiously._

" _For bringing the white healer. Without you aid, I would have joined the_ _mâhta'sóoma_ _," he said_ _. Looking uncomfortable, he continued, "And…I am sorry for acting rashly with the white men. I cannot really see us living in true peace, but you have done much more for our safety with words than anything I could have done with weapons."_

It was with those words that their friendship started.

It had been a tentative relationship at first, but when Kocoum walked up to Thomas and forgave him for any grievances there may be between them, Pocahontas knew she had found a dear friend. He was very different than what she had expected when she had thought she was going to be forced to marry him.

And she liked the differences.

He coughed and shifted a little under her, bringing her back to the present, and gave a small smile when her wide eyes looked back to his, confused as to where she was. He sat up slowly, with her nearly in his lap and asked, "Where did you go, Pocahontas?"

She shook herself and clambered off of him saying, "Nowhere I haven't been before." A full smile was her reward, and he chuckled deeply before standing and brushing himself off.

"I was worried when Nakoma said you were going off by yourself. You have a tendency for trouble, so I thought I'd make sure you were alright."

She sighed, "Ah, Nakoma, always telling on me. And the valiant Kocoum, keeping me out of harm's way. Really, what would I do without you both? You would think you two were married with the way you conspire against me!"

Kocoum looked decidedly uncomfortable at that joke. "Well, Thomas would have some words for me, and possibly another bullet should I try anything. Besides, I do not love Nakoma." His face had an indecipherable look on it, but his eyes seemed to pierce her with their intensity. Suddenly, Pocahontas found it a little harder to think.

"Yes, I suppose that match would not be the wisest," she breathed out unsteadily. Their eyes continued to try and communicate…something…until she broke their gaze and grinned cheekily.

"Kocoum, have you ever jumped off the waterfall by the lake?"

The warrior raised a brow at the change in topics. "No," he drew out the word questioningly. "I haven't. Have…you?" he was almost scared of the answer.

"Oh yes, hundreds of times! I think you need to have some fun today! You're going hunting tomorrow right? So for today, we are going to fly!" she grabbed his hand and started pulling the reluctant warrior along behind her.

She chattered all the way there, with Kocoum staying rather quiet until they reached the falls. She looked over the edge and beckoned the dark man to look too. Kocoum looked down and smiled, seeing why she liked to be this high up. It was exhilarating and dangerous and he couldn't help but laugh at what he was about to do. The stupidity of it all had nothing to do with the heights, the fall, or the water. It had everything to do with the woman next to him. The woman he loved. Was he _that_ brave? He wasn't sure until a moment later.

"I think I will jump first, to show you how to do it properly and—" she yelped when he suddenly scooped her into his arms and took a running leap over the edge. His war cries echoed off the trees and rocks as they fell. Pocahontas looked for a moment at his face, a carefree and joyful expression that she had never seen on him before. Though she only saw it for a moment before the icy water rushed to greet them, she felt her heart stutter and the only thought in her head was…

 _He's so beautiful_.

**xXx**

The haunting melody flowed on the tides of the water and whirled on the air.

Pocahontas flew through the trees, in time with the drums that followed her steps until the drums beat no more and she at last came upon the sacred clearing. It was where the warriors each had to live for three months in the wilderness to prove themselves worthy of their tribe's trust. Kocoum had been through the same trial as the others, and now it was Pocahontas's turn.

Though she was not to become a warrior, she was to become next in line to be _shaman_ of her tribe, and that meant a month of survival in the forest before she could return to her beloved people. And a month that the settlers and the Indians would be fearful of one another.

 _Can I really do this? Will I succeed? What will happen in my absence?_ Her thoughts whirled with the possibilities and paths that lay before her, until she sat upon the boulder that she would meditate on to ask Ma'heo'o for guidance in her future as a Seer.

" _You will make me proud, as you always have, my Pocahontas," her father had said when she brought up her fears for this journey. "You will dazzle the spirits with your wit and impress Ma'heo'o with your life song."_

She heaved a deep breath and sat upon the rock, folding her legs beneath her and closing her eyes. _I will try, father._ There she sat for the entire day, until her legs cramped and her head spun with the lack of water . She would drink little and eat less, in order to achieve the heightened senses that Tomocomo said he'd experienced when he was training. Already it was wearing on her as her stomach begged for food and her parched throat screamed for water.

Her eyes fluttered open, fixing upon the water jug that had journeyed with her. She stumbled off the rock and drank from the skein until her thirst subsided a bit. This was going to be a long month.

It went on for a fortnight like this. Each day before the sun rose, Pocahontas would sit upon the boulder and meditate, pray, or sleep in the position of solitude, hoping for something, anything, besides the confusing dream that she had each night. The arrow, the footprints, and the eagles were her constant visitors, and one day she wrenched herself from her dream-like state and cried out in frustration. The thunder sounded like the drums of home, and she longed to be back in the shelter of her father's lodge.

"What does it mean?" she screamed at the sky, feeling the first drops of rain falling onto her skin. It was cold, and for some reason, it felt like the spirits cried with her. Had something happened back in the tribe? Had there been a fight: a renewal of war? The thought made her tremble, and the cold water beating steadily onto her made her shiver.

She walked over to the small shelter she had built for herself and had a fleeting thought that she would give anything for a sturdy house right now. She smiled, as that made her think of Kocoum, and her food and sleep deprived mind went into oblivion with the thought that she wished Kocoum were here.

**xXx**

Soft footfalls came nearer, until she could no longer ignore them. She opened her tired eyes and saw two bare, brown feet standing before her, until she succumbed to sleep again. She dreamed.

_The woods smelled of the frost, and the animals all burrowed into their nests and homes, prepared for the winter. Though she could see everything covered in snow, she did not feel cold. The arrow spun in her hand, fascinating her with its gold laden exterior flashing in the morning light. She looked to the ground, where she knew the puzzle of the footprints would confuse her again. The heavy step of boots imprinted in the newly fallen snow walked forward, and she followed them, as always._

_But then the mystery made itself apparent. The boot prints stopped and were replaced with the_ _hohtsé_ _of bare feet. The only thing she could understand was that this must be the tracks of her people, for they were more used to the cold than the white man's. Her eyes and feet followed the tracks, stepping into them, and feeling a sense of interest that her stride could barely match it. She had a long gait, and there were very few others that could match or surpass it. When she came to the edge of the forest, she looked up to see the eagles…only this time, there was only one eagle. His mate was nowhere to be found, and his eyes seemed to beckon her forward._

_Here the dream deviated, and Pocahontas felt elation at the idea of a new message. She swiftly climbed the tree until she sat beside the eagle. In its eyes she saw something she hadn't expected to see. Instead of the quiet unknowing that animals possess in their eyes, she saw intelligence. Its eyes were obsidian, and she tried to remember who's eyes they reminded her of. They seemed so familiar._

_And in them, she saw the future._

_She saw a dark-haired girl running towards the waterfall to leap over it, while she saw herself in a canoe below, watching with a grin to rival the child's. When the little one fell down, down, down into the water, she paddled over in the canoe and waited for the child to surface. The little one, upon returning to the surface, sputtered and pouted playfully. Though no words were exchanged, it was apparent the child did not want to leave the lake._

_The older Pocahontas motioned towards the banks, where a log house sat, the smoke of a warm fire rising from it and promising shelter to the two women. When they drew near, a dark man came to greet them, though Pocahontas could not see his face clearly. But it was an Indian man, and this puzzled her. She had never thought she would be married, much less to one of her own. And they were obviously married, and this was her child. Her attraction to John Smith had led her to believe she could never love one so like her. But she was clearly happy. Her future self beamed at the man, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him softly, before they all disappeared into the house._

_The eagle blinked, and the vision within a vision dissipated into the mist of the morning. For some reason, she felt so happy to be here with the eagle that she felt able to fly. The eagle spread its wings, and with a nod to her, began to fly into the rising sun. When she turned to look, she felt herself take flight after him, never wanting to be parted._

_Two eagles flew into the morning, their cries calling joyfully to one another._

She awoke, feeling warm and safe, though she couldn't imagine why, what with the recent weather and her lack of warm food and shelter.

She floated through the bliss of awareness and sleep, when she was suddenly aware of a weight across her side. She opened her eyes reluctantly, not wanting to dispel the wonderful feelings, and saw it was a clothed arm slung across her. Her brows knit in confusion, wondering who this arm belonged to. She craned her neck to see, and was greeted with a sleeping Kocoum at her back, his face peaceful in dreams.

This confused Pocahontas's addled mind further. What was Kocoum doing here? And why was he asleep beside her? …And why did she feel as though she belonged in his arms, and would like to wake like this every morning? It was all so disorienting at so early an hour; the sun had not even begun to rise. He wore soft deerskin on upper and lower torso, his athletic body shielded from her view. Why was she disappointed by that?

But she soon decided that she didn't care about the silly questions running through her mind. Instead, she simply felt. She felt the rough calluses of his palm on her side, and the soothing whisper of his breath on her neck. She felt the weight of his arm draped across her smaller frame, and the warmth of his body against hers. _I could get used to this_.

The thought made her frown, trying to remember her dream from the night before. Everything had made so much sense, but now it was as if the vision was nothing but half-answered riddles and an eagle's feather floating on the wind.

She heard a sudden intake of breath, as though her bed-partner had woken as disoriented as she. The arm withdrew slowly, before the warmth left her back and the chill of the morning crept in.

After pretending to sleep for a while longer, she rolled over and looked into the deep eyes of Kocoum, feeling the first sense of peace she had experienced in a long while.

**xXx**

It was a strange kind of staring contest they were having right now.

Pocahontas could not even breathe, such was her state when she watched Kocoum with the half-remembered dream still in her mind. Finally she broke the stare, looking instead to what his hands were doing. A memory of the rough calluses pressed against her belly protectively rose unbidden in her mind and she shivered, though a fire had been built nearby.

"Are you still cold?" the warrior asked somberly, not a trace of teasing in his tone.

"Not really, just a little chilly this morning. Nothing I can't handle," she replied softly, not wanting to break the quiet of the clearing. He watched her a moment more before going back to his task: skinning a rabbit with a long curved knife. "What are you doing?" she asked, realizing belatedly what an inane question that was. But he seemed to understand what she meant.

"Making sure you get some food in your stomach. You've been neglecting to eat even a little, haven't you?" his eyes, though turned on the rabbit, flashed black fire, obviously angry.

"I thought I could achieve the heightened senses faster if I did that, and I was right." She felt the need to defend herself.

He looked up quickly. "You had an _ováxe_?" he demanded. She nodded, not wanting to share, but knowing he was probably going to ask questions. But Kocoum, as he had been lately, surprised her and did not press her.

"Regardless of any results, you could have died, Pocahontas. Do you realize the state I found you in? You were not even conscious, and you were so cold that it was like holding ice. My heat was the only thing that would have warmed you quick enough, and I…" he trailed off, a scowl on his face at having to admit what he did. "I will not ask forgiveness for that. I did what was necessary to save you." He drew his chin up defiantly, but some kind of sadness was in his eyes.

"Kocoum, I would not ask you to apologize for that. You likely saved my life. But I must ask: why are you here? You could get in serious trouble if anyone found you here when I'm supposed to be in solitude for another fortnight." She wished she didn't have to remind him. If she reminded him, he would probably leave, and that was unimaginable right now. She needed him here.

The dark man explained, "The _shaman_ had a vision of you; that you had fallen to the elements, and would perish if someone didn't help you. He wanted to come himself, but your father needs him right now. The white men have been restless without your presence, and things have gotten tense. There was nearly a confrontation, but it was resolved for now. Your father is debating whether or not to bring you home now. But I convinced him to send me to check on you, and let you decide what you need to do."

She looked at her hands, deliberating for a long moment. Finally she sighed and said, "I think…I need to stay. As much as I dislike keeping things between my _manâhestôtse_ the way they are, I must finish this task, and find the meaning of the dream so that I can return. To not do this would disgrace both myself and my people. And I could never let my father and Tomocomo down like that."

She didn't notice Kocoum kneel beside her until she felt his warm hands take her cold ones. He raised her face, smiling gently at her, holding her gaze steadily. "You will never be a disgrace, Pocahontas."

He squeezed her hand briefly, before returning to the skinned rabbit and taking it to hang over the fire he had built. "A meal is what you need now. And someone to make sure you keep healthy, since you seem determined to not see to it yourself. I brought you some more garments that are better suited to the cold. It is not usually done this way, but your father has approved, though I am not to bother you while meditating. I will simply be here should you need me," he said stoically.

This sparked a bit of ire in Pocahontas. So she was so pathetic that she couldn't even last a month out here by herself? "I do not need a keeper, Kocoum. I will not make the same mistake twice. Thank you for helping me, but I can do this on my own," she said acidly, but not feeling her own words. She wanted him here, more than she wanted anything else right now. But this was a matter of pride. She did not need a man to look after her.

He glared at her, and said in a forcibly calm tone, "I am not leaving, Pocahontas."

She growled and turned to stalk off, before his soft words reached her. "Would you have let Smith do this for you?" She whirled around, furious that he would bring up her lost love in such a cruel way. But the look on his face had her anger draining as quickly as it came.

He was looking at her, but not at her. Rather, he was looking through her, seeing a different time, a different place. And he looked graver and sadder than she had ever seen him. He was right.

She would have let John care for her. So why would she not let Kocoum? Because he did not mean as much? The thought was laughable. He had come to mean many things to her, even if she could not entirely define _what_ he meant.

She thought the answer must be because she did not want him to see her weakness. He was so strong and stable, and she was like the wisp of the clouds, drifting from one place to another, never in the same place twice. He was the sturdy home, and she was the wild fire that could destroy it.

And then she had her answer.

She was pushing him away, because she did not want to hurt him. She couldn't exactly say how much she cared for him, but it was too much to begin with. He had replaced the image of what she _thought_ he was, with one of what he _actually_ was. And she liked this other man. A little too much, in fact.

She wanted to remain faithful to John; he might return one day! But…what if she was only being faithful to his memory?

Would things have truly worked out if he had stayed? They would be forever divided between kin and love, no matter what she said about unity. She could bring everyone within arms-length of each other, but only the white men and her people could choose to clasp hands with one another.

And being with Kocoum could get him hurt. She was in the land where the crossfire would be, and she did not want to force him to choose too. She also didn't want her _own_ heart to hurt again. If something was to happen, and he left her or was killed, where would that leave her? It was a distinct possibility on both counts. She knew from the way the other women talked that Kocoum had likely had many lovers. The thought made her burn with a feeling she didn't want to acknowledge as jealousy.

And he could be killed. Another bullet could pierce him, and this time, there would be no peaceful white doctor to save him.

She breathed out slowly, thinking briefly before making a hasty decision, and praying that it was the right path. Pocahontas strode forward determinedly and he seemed to brace himself for an attack. But instead, she took his hand in hers and planted a soft kiss on his palm. His breathing became slightly erratic, and she couldn't help but smirk up at him.

"Yes, I would have. But the spirits know how inept he would have been at keeping me alive and focused. You are much better suited to the task."

**xXx**

A routine was formed in the week or so.

Pocahontas and Kocoum would wake near simultaneously from their individual pallets, and Kocoum would go into the woods to hunt while Pocahontas sat upon the rock to meditate. She would often become so deep within herself that Kocoum would have to gently shake her out of wherever she had gone to.

He would skin whatever he had caught, and she would cook a meal from it. While before she would have grumbled and protested against the 'women's work', the praise from Kocoum at her talents were enough to give her a satisfied sentiment, rather than an irritated one. She found that keeping both of their stomachs appeased was a fulfilling feeling, if not the same feeling she got from running or swimming.

Then she would go back to the rock and sit for several hours longer, until Kocoum would draw her from the rock with promises of music from his _tâhpeno_. Though he was a warrior, he had learned to play as a child despite the other boy's jeering. Well, they had stopped laughing soon after he became the fierce warrior he was. It was another aspect of him that Pocahontas had never known about, and when he would play, she found herself leaning her head on his shoulder, wishing to be closer.

She was terrified.

She had fallen in love with her friend, and she didn't know what to do.

Should she approach him with her feelings? She didn't even know if he still liked her like that…or really, if he ever had. Knowing the depths she had discovered in him, she wondered if his family had pressured their union like hers had. It was the possibility of rejection that stayed her tongue.

But then, what were the looks they often exchanged? Sometimes when she cooked or he played or they talked, their eyes would lock. And sometimes she thought she saw the same emotions, the same fears, the same love mirrored in his obsidian eyes. His were often stormy, with barely suppressed emotion that she had never expected from him.

This shamed her. What had led her to believe he was emotionless or cold? She barely knew him when she was told she would be wed to him, and she had judged him based on pre-conceived notions of what a husband should be. Though he was strong, stoic, and sturdy, he also had a playful streak, a love of nature, and a rich laugh that balanced his more serious side well. And yet, she had thought him the enemy. When he had attacked John, she realized now, he had been protecting her. He had been protecting the woman that shunned and disgraced him.

She wished there was some way to let him know how differently she felt about him, but she settled for the glances and the _ováxe_ that she hoped could possibly be about him.

**xXx**

Kocoum couldn't remember ever being this scared.

Not when he had shot his first arrow, experienced his first war, or killed his first human being.

None of that could compare to the fear he felt when he would watch Pocahontas sink so deep into her own mind that he had to forcibly tear her from it. Or when she would lean on his shoulder and breathe the sigh that she made when little things were right. Like when the fire caught, or the rabbit or pheasant he'd caught was fat, or she woke and the sun was out.

Oh, spirits guide him, he was falling deeper and deeper in love with the unobtainable Pocahontas. He had always thought himself a fairly intelligent creature, but sometimes he wondered how wise it was to love a woman who's willful nature would never allow her to settle. Though he knew he could provide her with a good home, plenty of food, protection, and possibly children, it didn't seem to have ever been what she wanted.

He couldn't begrudge her what she wanted in life: to be completely free. But a voice in the back of his said he could offer her what she desired even more than freedom.

Love.

He would simply love her in his actions. It would have to be enough for now.

**xXx**

"Aargh!"

It was a cry of anger, frustration, and pain that echoed through the clearing.

A startled Kocoum looked up from his kill, which he had been—as was routine—preparing for the evening meal. Food was getting scarcer, with winter so close. He could practically taste the snow on the air, and he hoped the winter would be milder than the last few years. Many of the tribe and the settlement had been taken last year, and the loss had been tangible for him.

His mother, Ominotago, had joined his father among the spirits. His father had died as the first casualty the previous year in the first skirmish with the white men.

The thought was not as bitter as he had expected, though it still sent a twinge of sadness through him. His mother was a good woman with a sweet voice and his father an esteemed warrior in the tribe. It was his mother that had encouraged her son in his planned proposal to Pocahontas. _"What woman wouldn't love my Kocoum?"_ she had quipped when he had brought up his hesitation. Well, a wise woman was allowed one mistake, he supposed, smiling.

Then he remembered what had startled him into the memories in the first place, and asked, "What is wrong, Pocahontas?" Standing, he walked over to where the woman stood with her back to him. She didn't answer, just turned and stuck out her hand with a deep scowl.

A gash ran across her palm, bleeding messily down her arm and onto the ground. He gently took her hand and inspected it.

"My mind was elsewhere, and the knife slipped," she said, obviously irritated at herself. He smiled and chuckled, knowing this would only infuriate her more.

Before she could protest his laughter, he soothed her. "It's alright, Pocahontas. I would be disappointed if my meals were not made with a bit of dreaming mixed in, though I'm sorry you're hurt. Come sit here, and I'll tend it."

Was it his imagination, or did her breathing speed up a little? Kocoum shook off the thought as idle thinking and went to his pack to get a skein of water and a soft cloth. Sitting on a fallen log, he bade Pocahontas sit by him, hoping the stubborn set of her jaw wasn't going to cause him trouble.

Finally, she stalked over to him and huffed as she sat down. He lifted her hand into his and poured a little water on it, to remove any dirt that may have gotten in. He washed up her arm, wiping away any evidence of blood. He then spread a bit of the salve that he had learned to make from his mother, onto the wound, apologizing when she hissed in pain. Finally, he wrapped the cloth around her palm several times before tucking in the stray edges to make a perfect bandage. He sat back, proud of his accomplishment, and looked to see Pocahontas looking at him with a strange expression.

"Where did you learn such skills?" she demanded.

"Though I doubt you'll believe it, I learned from Tomocomo. When I was a little one, I skinned my knee climbing a tree, and he taught me how to treat a wound. The salve is from my mother."

"You climbed trees?"

His laughter could not be contained. "Of course! Every child goes through that phase. You just are one of those few that never grew out of it. Truthfully, there are times I wish the demands of a warrior did not exclude swinging in the trees," he smirked at her awed expression. "But I suppose it's for the best. I would be useless if I were jumping about in the branches, rather than protecting the tribe or hunting for food. You, on the other hand, are all the more beautiful for your tree-climbing skills," He realized belatedly that Pocahontas was not laughing with him.

"Pocahontas?"

"You think I'm beautiful?" came the quiet question.

Oh no…he hadn't meant to say it like that. He had simply wanted to show her the difference between their ability to play. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable. Thinking quickly, he came up with a reasonable answer.

"I doubt there is a man in the tribe that thinks otherwise."

Her face fell slightly, and she looked to the ground where his footprints were scattered around the clearing. Kocoum immediately regretted the words. "But…I think you are even more beautiful in your spirit. You have a quick wit, a vivaciousness for life that others envy, and you have the capacity for deeper sorrow, joy, and love than most. That is what will truly draw men to you," he explained swiftly.

"Love…" she whispered to herself. Kocoum drew an unsteady breath. Finally, she locked her eyes with his, raven wing black meeting obsidian, and she asked the most deadly question she could think of.

"And you, Kocoum? Are you drawn to these things?"

**xXx**

Had the world ceased to move, to dance, to sing?

She didn't know, but she felt as though it had. Kocoum's eyes were flashing with various emotions that Pocahontas couldn't even begin to untangle. She should not have asked a thing like that. Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut?

Why couldn't she wait a moment longer for his answer?

He breathed out slowly, seeming to understand how desperate she was for an answer. "Pocahontas…" he began, reaching out slowly, so slowly, to take her smaller hand into his broad one, "I have been drawn to all these things and more since we were nearly children. First, it was your willful nature that my younger self was attracted to, mostly because I was jealous of it." His voice was deep with emotion and something beginning to surface, seemingly against his will.

Pocahontas could not breathe. She simply couldn't find the will to draw air. But he continued.

"Then, when we were older, it was your appearance. You have always been beautiful, but when I passed from boy to man, it was agony. I was constantly at war with myself, fighting not to follow you when you would go to the river to bathe or not to kiss you thoroughly whenever you drew near. When the fire within me slowly returned to a simmer, it was your wit, your courage, your caring nature that captured my attention. But all this was not enough for me to truly see exactly how much I cared for you. I thought I had plenty on time to understand. And then…" he trailed off for a moment.

She finally gasped in a few shallow breaths, trying not to make too much noise so she could hear his voice go on. Though he was speaking of past memories, his gaze was in the present, seeing her—here and now.

"And then, when I saw you kissing Smith—well, that solidified my love, strangely enough. It wasn't until then that I realized I did not have all the time in the world. I had forfeited my chance, to one I didn't even know, and it nearly tore me in two. When I attacked him…it was like my anger and jealousy and uncontrollable despair simply took me over, and I was lost to it. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank the spirits for letting it be _me_ who got hurt, instead of Thomas or Smith."

Pocahontas gaped at him, wondering where the man she thought she knew went, and who this new man was. Had this all been recent, or had this change started from the moment they became friends? Or perhaps Kocoum had always been there; had always been this amazing person that sat before her, rubbing soothing circles on her hand.

"If it had been Smith, I doubt you would have ever forgiven me. As much as it still hurts to say, I know you loved…may still love…Smith. But I'm incredibly grateful that I can at least be your friend and protector, even if I will never have the pleasure of your hand in marriage," he said, his eyes never once leaving hers. When he saw the stricken look on her face, he hurriedly assured her, "Do not think that I'm telling you this to try and persuade you. I know I am not what you want, and I will just have to live with that. But…know that I will always love everything about you, and should you ever change your mind, I will be waiting."

A silence reigned for a long moment, the two pairs of hands intertwined and their eyes locked on one another, before Kocoum sighed and stood to return to his chores in the clearing.

It was a second that Pocahontas had to decide what she wanted most in life. The whirl pool of memories— from the time when the ship first came—swirled into her mind, before abruptly being swept away by a steady river of memories of the past two years.

And they all seemed to include Kocoum's solid presence.

Her dream seemed to play out before her mind's eye in pieces of a second, before she grasped onto what her future path was. It was always Kocoum. He had always been her future, and always would be.

Her hand reached out of her own accord, gripping his wrist and wrenching him back down to her. When he followed, she threw her arms around his neck and clung for dear life. After a moment, his arms came to wrap around her tightly, and she finally felt _home_. He pulled back slightly, looking hopeful and serious, and wiped her eyes with his fingers. She hadn't realized she was weeping until his hand came away with the beads of her tears.

"Pocahontas…" he whispered softly, before moving forward to capture her lips with his. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she surrendered.

She was flying.

She had thought she had known what it meant to fly, but now she knew better. She had merely been hovering at the edge of the cliff, waiting for her wings to be ready. With the heat of Kocoum's mouth on hers, moving in heedless abandon, she leapt from the tree with the eagle and _soared_. Their tongues dueled and danced, neither one seeking to gain an advantage, simply to drink of each other's love.

She was dizzy with the lack of air, and he was not letting her surface. She didn't think she wanted to anyways. The only sound in the clearing was the wind singing softly, and the whispers of her lips exploring his.

Kocoum slowly retreated, his eyes opening hesitantly; he was afraid that he would wake up to a different reality. His palms cupped her face, and he kissed each of her closed eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, and back to her lips, before leaning his forehead on hers and simply breathed.

Her scent was familiar to him now, as it had been since she had declared herself his friend, but time could not take away the headiness of it. She was sweet and spicy in both smell and taste, and he couldn't seem to get enough. He kissed the corners of her mouth again, before she shuddered and brought his lips back to hers in a more heated kiss. It was a feeling he knew he would never get used to.

"I love you so much…" she whispered between kisses. "Love you so, so much Kocoum. It hurts." Each word was punctuated with another soft press of her lips to his skin.

"I know it does, Pocahontas. But…it's the best kind of hurting. It squeezes your heart and tears at your insides, trying to be free and sing to the world how wonderfully it hurts. And then it heals and blossoms. _Néméhotâtse_ , Pocahontas. More than I can possibly say," he murmured back, holding her as close as he could, her head resting on his shoulder as she breathed deeply.

"I want you, Kocoum. In my home, in my life, in my heart. I wish I could have wanted you long ago, but I think I needed to grow a little first. I'm so glad I don't have to wait anymore," she sighed, pulling back to look in his eyes, dark and smoldering like a fire not put out correctly. It sent shivers trilling up her spine, and she pulled him to her again, with no intention of stopping this time.

She pulled him down with her until he lay partially on her, snaking her arms around him and kissing him deeply, until they both had to break away for air. When she began to press against him, he broke away from her mouth. "My love, are you sure?" His deep voice caressed her when he moved his mouth to her neck, biting and kissing the column of her throat.

She could not even speak, she needed him so badly. So she simply nodded, breathing shallowly and moaning in frustration when he pulled away. "Then, there is something I must give you first. A wedding present." Though his arousal was evident, and his lust nearly untamable, he loved her far too much not to do this right. He reached into his pack, lying not far away and drew something around her neck before fastening it. "With this, I ask for your hand in marriage."

Pocahontas burst into tears as she looked at the gift, running her fingers over the smooth beads.

Her mother's necklace.

It had gone unrepaired for the years after the war; she couldn't look at it without being reminded of all the bad that had happened to her. But now, it was given a new meaning, a hopeful and joyous one that she would proudly wear until the end of her days. He smiled softly and again wiped away her tears and kissed her over and over, until her tears turned into laughter. "And I accept," she replied.

They loved deep into the night, time after time, never sated, never wanting to be parted. When the lovers collapsed against each other, unable to resist the lure of sleep anymore, Pocahontas rested her head on Kocoum's strong chest, listening to his heartbeat.

It beat in time with the drums.

It beat in time with her dreams.

His heart beat in time with her own.

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Malsum's spirit- the story of Mother Earth's two sons: Malsum and Glooskap. Look it up to see full story.
> 
> Shaman- A wise man or woman (frequently a berdache, or two-spirit, who identified as both genders), or healer of the tribe. It is a very esteemed position, second only to the chief.
> 
> Roti- sweet bread.
> 
> ma'háhkéso- An affectionate way to say "Old Man"
> 
> Little Wanton- this is the translated form of the name Pocahontas. Can also be read "Little Mischief"
> 
> Hoy- A standard greeting of the English, or a "cry of need or indignation."
> 
> nanóse'hame- Mountain lion, or big cat.
> 
> The Trial of the Warrior- It was a common practice among many different tribes to send off their young men to live in the wilderness for a period of time (it all depends on which group you talk to) to prove their strength, bravery, and survival skills. The shamans often had to go on long times of meditation even after their initial training.
> 
> Ma'heo'o- Great Spirit, closely associated with "God" in English. It is believed that there is a governing spirit among the earth spirits.
> 
> Skein- a type of container for holding liquid.
> 
> Hohtsé- Footprints.
> 
> Engagement- To lie the night with a man or woman was often seen as a marriage "guarentee", though not always. While Kocoum was simply keeping Pocahontas from a bad case of Hypothermia, the tribe, had they known, would have likely believed them to be betrothed.
> 
> Ováxe- dream or vision. Dreams were considered messages from the spirits, and very important to interpret.
> 
> Manâhestôtse- family.
> 
> Tâhpeno- a type of wood flute that many tribes of Native Americans use. In some tribes, it is odd for a warrior to learn such a peaceful instrument, but not in all groups.
> 
> Ominotago- means "sweet voice" or "sweet song". I decided to use this name for Kocoum's mother, because I have a feeling his mother would have been pretty awesome.
> 
> Néméhotâtse- I love you.
> 
> Marriage- Love-making, preceded by a wedding present, could be considered marriage. A ceremony was not always necessary. Although I'm sure Kocoum would have given her a big feast and all that when they got back.


End file.
